


Come back! Even as a shadow, even as a dream

by ozymandiasdirge



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Additional Characters to be added, Ancient Greece, Blasphemy, Brainwashing, Extensive Discussion of Prehistoric Marine Life, Lobotomy, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Series Castiel (Supernatural), Psychological Trauma, beach episode - the gay trauma of growing up edition, canon typical homophobia, castiel's tragic gay backstory, enough blasphemy to get me, my hand delivered excommunication letter, strraight from pope francis himself
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:14:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28682376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozymandiasdirge/pseuds/ozymandiasdirge
Summary: "How could anyone know them and not love them?" Castiel learns. And learns. And learns. It takes about four hundred million years for the lesson to stick.
Relationships: Castiel & Anna Milton, Castiel & Gabriel (Supernatural), Castiel & God | Chuck Shurley, Castiel & Naomi (Supernatural), Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 26
Kudos: 59





	1. Prologue - Ever on his Wandering Trail

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from Euripedes' _Herakles_. Chapter Title from Bliss Carman's _The Angels of Man_.

**Boeotia, Greece sometime in the middle of the 1st century, AD**

The agora he is sitting in is loud with chatter, but it takes five increasingly slurred utterances of Castiel’s name ringing out across the host in prayer, before Castiel stops his recitation of Luke’s latest writings. He's sitting across from Anna, giving her a summation of the last month’s events before the prophet’s interruptions had caused her to sigh and tell him to return later.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like for me to finish?” Castiel asks, Anna has always insisted on punctuality when it comes to their reports and Castiel finds the idea of hindering her progress reports to Zachariah unpleasant. Interrupted progress reports means that Zachariah will have to stop delegating the task of the prophet’s protection to Anna and the rest of her garrison. Which means they will be shuffled off and returned to ensuring the correct orbit of Thalassa around Neptune, and as much as Castiel finds the unending wisps of barely visible rings around the planet enchanting, he really does prefer assignments closer to his father’s most treasured creations, as much as he can prefer anything.

“I’m not sure how much more we’ll be able to discuss if the prophet’s...concerns aren’t addressed,” Anna demures, the brows of her vessel furrowing slightly as another  _ Castiel _ is pronounced loudly to the host, “It’s alright Castiel, go to the prophet. I need to seek revelation shortly.” 

“You received new orders yesterday, has something transpired in Heaven?”

“Not that I’m aware of, no. Zachariah has decided to take a more….” she pauses and takes a sip of the wine on the table, her lips stained red and her vessel’s eyes narrowing at the bitterness “Proactive approach to our garrison after Raphael enquired after us.”

“Raphael?” Castiel knows he’s questioning Anna more than he ought to, but that name in particular catches his attention. The archangels have rarely seen fit to direct human affairs now that the son has resisted Lucifer’s interference and risen. 

Anna quirks the mouth of her vessel barely enough to be visible and Castiel is strangely reminded of the woman he saw cleaning off dirt from a toddler’s chiton as he was waiting for Anna to arrive in the agora they currently sit in. The chattering is still loud, even as twilight approaches, and Castiel still marvels at how many different tongues he hears as humans pass their table.

“Yes, according to Zachariah’s ran-- memorandum Raphael may have accused him of….let’s call it shirking,” she says drolly, looking into his eyes and raising an eyebrow, the slant of the disappearing sunlight cutting a shadow across her vessel’s face, making already brown eyes resemble freshly turned earth more than the mead they had a few moments ago. 

Her vessel is temporary, blessing Anna with his service for only a short time before his services will no longer be required and Anna finishes her progressively shorter sojourns to Earth. 

“That must have made Zachariah….thoughtful,” Castiel answers back diplomatically. 

Zachariah’s attentions to the prophet tend towards the sort of bland apathy a patrician would pay to the worn strap of a sandal, a nuisance but unremarkable when one can easily find a new pair.

“Yes well, Raphael gently reminded Zachariah that the prophet was the sole author to speak with Miriam before her passing, and that his protection is of the utmost to Father,” says Anna, her voice growing tighter as she gets to the end of her sentence. Castiel is unsure if anyone else would be able to recognize it, or if he’s been under Anna’s command for so long that it’s just more apparent. He quickly changes the subject, there is often a correlation between the tightness in his sister’s voice and the amount of time she spends in Heaven with the other seraphs.

“Depending on the needs of the prophet, there may be time for you to visit the amphitheater,” he remarks. While they are not strictly forbidden from interacting with humans while on earth, they are certainly not encouraged to unless they’re acting as guides prescribed by Metatron or Michael. Castiel knows this and understands it, the doorways to doubt are easily opened and there is no reward for doing so in Heaven or on Earth worth the consequences of prying the locks off. However, Balthazar and Anna have always enjoyed the art created by humans, as has Castiel in a more oblique way, and he does not see how that’s any different from admiring the Catskills or Lake Baikal. The dramas of the humans and the creations set in motion by his siblings are only possible through the blessings of his father, Castiel has never been of the opinion that they cannot be appreciated in equal measure.

The barest hint of joy in the eyes of Anna’s vessel is visible even in the light of the sunset and Castiel decides to spend an extra few hours with Luke. Not that Castiel does not enjoy spending time with his charge, Luke is interesting if well….peculiar. Not to mention, that Castiel is savoring the fresh breeze carrying the scent of peonies instead of the opium haze of Luke’s current dwellings.

As if sensing that Castiel’s thoughts have turned to him, the prophet lets out another particularly loud prayer consisting of  _ in excelsis Castiel _ in his direction and Castiel jolts at the blasphemy. He isn’t in any danger that Castiel can sense, sometimes he just wants someone to bounce phrasing off of. After that comment, Castiel decides the editorial discussion can wait.

Anna adds, “I had heard something about Euripedes….I suppose if I finish in time, it would be nice to compare their attempt to the original,” her features have softened and Castiel feels a lightness in his chest for the first time since Anna came to Boeoticia. 

She meets his vessel’s eyes, “Are you sure you don’t want to join me Castiel?”

Anna’s vessel is an older man, a slave to one of the senators who is in Thebes for reasons that escape Castiel’s limited understanding of commerce, something about ewes and olives on an estate. His hands are calloused and gripping the chalice of wine, the veins across them reminding Castiel of the gnarled olive tree branches in the valley below. Castiel flicks his eyes down at the hands of his current vessel, unblistered and small as they were twenty-six years ago, when Castiel first asked for her blessing. There is a small scrape on the heel of her palm, the only blemish marring her olive skin. 

_ That’s odd _ , he thinks, unable to stop looking at the mark. It’s unremarkable; a white nick, less than half an inch long on her right palm, but it makes him pause. He has been in Shoshana’s body for twenty-six years and made sure to keep it unchanging in return for her service, through fights with Lucifer’s abominations and lamias alike there has never been any damage that Castiel has not been able to repair and even if there had been he could have enlisted the help of the _Rit Zien_.

Ṙ̸̖̗̲͔̻̝̮̠̬͖̫͋̇͑̊ę̸̱͇͇̯͓̞̣͐̈́͆̽̿̎͂̀͛̑͂̐̆ͅj̴̢̜͈̩͍̰͓̘͍͇̝͎̫̃̆͊̉̐̀͌o̷̧̨̧̧̪̠̣̪͙͔̟̺̭̐̓̽͒̒̏̓̍̈́̚͠į̵̨̟̖̙̗͙͚͓̭̠͝ĉ̵̹̟͓̬̫̠͓̫̫̟̣̬͇̯̠̈̈́͛̏͒ͅẻ̴̩̣̙̠̥͇͙̠̤͋͗̋̒͜ ̷̸̧̢̠͕̟͍͎̠̪̱͕̭͙͇̖̺͗͋ͅC̶̰̔ȃ̶̳s̶͎͊t̵̰̊ḯ̷͈e̵͍̚l̷̬̾,̷̦͂ ̵̧̂G̶̯͑ḻ̶̓o̴̤̐ṛ̵͝ḭ̸͂a̶͙͋ ̵̹̒G̷̱̃l̴͓̍o̸̲̎r̴̤̅į̴̊a̵̮͠ ̴̢̈́I̸̬͒n̸̟͊ ̸̳E̴̅ͅx̴͚c̷̥̔e̶͉͐l̷͎̆s̶̟̒i̶̬̾ş̸͠ ̷̪͗Ḍ̵̐ë̵̜o̸̖͗

̷̯̎͂R̷̗̰̭͎̓͂̈́͝e̴̢̠̝̤͓̓͗j̴̫͈̎͋͜o̵̧̠̦̞̱̺̊̃͝͝i̵͙̜̠̮̟͌̏̓̑͘c̸̪̫̍̈́̂ḙ̷͐ ̶̻͔͖͕̿C̶̯̝̹̘͉͕̏͑̈͆ǎ̴̤̖͎͚̤s̷̮̽̓t̶̨̝̟̣͎̎ḯ̶̟̆͌̃̊͜e̷̢͎̞̫̝̲͊̊͝l̵̨͖̀̌ 

Ἅ̶̗̮̼̼͙̺͖̀̓̈γ̷͔͚̺͕͕̂̒̈̾ι̶̲̯̞̥̽̚ὀ̶͚͈̔̑͊̚ς̴͖̣̖̝̻,̷̻͇̘̠̲́͝ ̶̛̰͙̒̎̍̃͛̓ᾅ̴̮͉̳̕͜γ̸̲̳͇̗͖͚̑͋͌̉͝ἱ̷̢̫̠͚͔̲̎̋͑̕͝ο̵̛̝̮͈̘̃̀̽̍ς̵̭͚̪͈̟̾͜,̷̢̙̗̭̂͂̔̓̓ ̶̢͙̱̱̈́̈̊͘͜͠ἅ̴̠̼͕̖̐̽γ̵̣̤̱̰͓̋̇̈́͑ι̴̲̫̻̒͑̃̑͂ο̷͉̟̦̬̺͒ͅς̵̪̝͆̓̆ͅ ̴̨͙̜̺̩͕̫̐̒̂͠Κ̸̨̱͖͋̉͛͊͐͋ύ̸̥̓̽̏ρ̵̻̣̜̱̽̓̇̑̍̚ι̴̨̧̘̪̜̋͑̎̽̀ͅὸ̷̮̟̆̕ς̷̢͕̙̺̱̬̘͒̑̃̏͘ ̴͕̳̣͐Σ̴͔͉̐α̷̼̭̣̬̲̹͓̃͐̅̂̚͝β̶̨̞̝͍̮͑α̶̘͇̝̖̫͔͝ώ̶͓͓̲̘͎͎̋θ̴̲̞̩͊̊̌̇̽.̴̨͈͖̖̣̯̊

̴̄̈̌Π̵̘̘̘̜͈͇̘̔λ̵̧̦͛̈̕ή̸͇͙͖̝̝̐͂̇̋͠ρ̵̦̻̼̦͍̜̽̒̈́̉̕͜η̶̰͐̑̈́̽̍͆͐ς̵̻͎̻̗͆̈́ ̶̢̗̫̫̈̓̇͋̈ὁ̸̛̱̦̘̟̠̒̃͒̍ͅ ̸̩̐̅̽͑̔͂̕ο̷̧̢̬͚̜̼̈ὐ̷̙̾͗̾̓̾̄̚ρ̵̧͖̣̘̬̣̌͗͆̕ͅᾲ̶̡̢̫̪̜̄̊ν̷͓̤̃̆̑ὸ̷̡̯̖̘̜̟̤̾̆̔͝ς̶̫̻̥̮̳͚͌̂͜ ̸͕̣̏κ̸͍̖̇́̓̕͝α̴̢͖̥͔̤͆͂͛̚ὶ̶̹̻͑̏ ̶̟͓͍̻̣̱̋͆ἡ̵̝̖̯̤̊ ̷͈͆͘γ̶̢̱̱̹͋̄́ῆ̶͍̝̞͋́̅̃͜͜ ̸̨̛̘̠̱͈̑͊͋̈̃τ̷̺̦̯̝͗̐͆̃̓̕ῆ̴͚͉̖̫̅̇̓ς̷̛̰̻̈́̇ ̸͈̤͔̲̭̤̋͐̐͝͠͝δ̴̓͗͜ό̷͕͋͑̈́̒͘ξ̸͕͈̒͜η̶̠͐͗̈̕ς̸̱̘͚̲͚̆̔̀̚ ̸͉͖̃σ̶̣͌̿͑̈ο̵͈̪̈́̿υ̴̮͓͍̥̜̗̿.̴͈̈́̿͊

̵̢̢̗̣̬͊̆͛̇͆͜Ὡ̴̧̜̲̱͇̻͎̆σ̵̞̚̚α̶̧̧͇̫͑͛͒́̚ν̴͇̍̔̓̓̌͌ν̸̛͕̉̋͋̈̃ᾲ̵̨̰̘̲͇̑̃̆͛̍̚ ̷̪͕̝̩̒̑̈́ἐ̸̧̤̗̮̂͜ͅν̸̳͚̺̖̱̂̋͊͆̑̂̚ ̸̨̧̢͖̎͗̒̿τ̵̯̫̓͌̇̈́̏́̚ο̶̤̾ῖ̴̘͎͓̜̖͒͌ς̴̨̛͕̒̽͑̕͝ ̴̹̬̻̑̿̈́ὑ̶̳̣͕̥͈̲͚̇̓̆̌̅̓ψ̷̮̥̞̘̳̈́͝ί̶̧̺͈͔͖̅͗̾̽̆̚͠σ̴̨͔͒͠τ̵̡̨̞̽͋ο̸̝̊͘ῐ̴̧̹͔̟̙̖͗̿̍͜ς̵͉͕̗̟̳͇́̆̂̿͌̂͠.̷̨̱̮̩̟̪̻̊̐͛͝

̴̨̨̮̞͓̲͊͐Ε̸̄͆̀̚͝͝ͅὐ̷͎͈͊͌̇̽̊̂͗λ̵͓͚̤̆̿̿̄͋ό̵̰̳̞̺̓̉̅̈́̚γ̸̢̻͔̆η̵̡̹͍̗̩̻̘̐̅̏͗͐͘μ̴̨̤̳͊́̇̕͝͝έ̶̡̄̈ν̷͓̽̕͘͠ο̵̞̪̯̥͝͠ς̷͎͍̓ ̴̢̥̖̺̭̽̎̓̂͝ὁ̵̼̦͂͂̈͆͐͆̆ ̶͉̹͖̯̭̙̐̒́͗̉̈́̚ἐ̶̛͙͚̠͛̏ρ̴̨͕̪͔̱͔̟̈́͋͋̌̇̚χ̵͇͂͋̈́ό̴̞͈͔̬̆̌̇̐̚̚μ̷̣͚̫̼̩͑͆̔͆͝ε̷͙̬̋͗ν̷̰̝̗̼͛ο̶͚̬̣̝̻͎̒̋̕ς̶̝̟̊̇͛͋̚ ̵̧̗̉̈́̓͋ͅἐ̶̡̜̖̩͇͍̈ν̷̧̾̒̉͊́̉͝ͅ ̷̤̼̋͊ὀ̷̬̠͇̮̿̑̅̉͜ν̸̲̮̰̬̀̑ό̸͖̬̪̫̱͇̌̊̓μ̸͔͋̈́̊̇̉̕͝ͅα̴̦̫͑τ̴̭̩̦̪̞̉̈́̈́̕͝ι̴̲̭̮͇̞̒̇͑̊̔͝ ̵̠͚̦̄͗Κ̶̠̦͊̔͂͋̒̏̃υ̶͖̟̎̏͂ρ̷͕̗̤̆͌́̅̓ί̷͎̗̠͕͕̈́̊͝ο̷̧̠̹͉̩̆̔̔̂̆̽̕ͅυ̷̧̙̣̺͉̲͎̉̌̄͆͝.̵͓̭̿͐͊̉͆̑

̴̝̮͊̒̎̆̇̓̅̀̔̚̚Ὡ̸̡̢͈̺͎̙̣̗̊̇̿͋̃̈́̈́̃͑͋͋̅̄̇̒̃̃̾͝σ̵̛̘̻͍̭̓͂̈̈́͐̿͒̄̄̈́̋̃͒͝͝ͅᾰ̴̧̥̞̙͇͌̐̈́͗̉͂ν̵̧̛̪̞̬͙̬͔̺̻̰͙̬̟̖̊̓̈̑̾͛͒̍̾͒̃͒̄̍͒̔̒̏ν̶̢̡̳̼͇͈̤͇̜̼̟͓̦͓̻̭͋̓͂̏̽͛̈́͌͘͜ͅὰ̸̨̢̝̼̝̟̻̥͙̜͛͑͂̈́̈̋̃̉̆́̕͘ ̵̮͚̯̯̲̳͙̹̝͔̲̣̯͎̺̺̲͑̇̀̌̒̂̍̆̚ἐ̶͈̮̙̜͙͚̗̙̱͇̳͖̑͌̔̒ν̶̢̳̜̝̉ ̶̹̍͐̂̃̅̋͛̐τ̷̧́̊͒̊̎̏̀͊ο̷̡̗̙͍̲̬̱͉͙͓̙͚̭̲̩͈͚̰̋̉̾̅̃̊̍̽̅ῖ̵̧͔͕̭̬͔̗̞͇̦͊̍̂̽̀̆͛̔͋͋̊͒͗̌̓͌̌̕ς̸̨̃͆̑̕ ̸̳͖͈̲̝̜̘̮͕͌̅̿̉͗̍͌̑̿͝ὑ̶̢̢̨̨̤̖͚̻̖̘̯̮͈͙̖͉̞͈͗̋̃̐̄̏͊́̋̉̎̇͘ψ̵̧̞̰̼̠̹͙̤̺̳̹̘̳͈̩͂͌̏̋̈́͆̌͌̂̂͐͝ί̴̬͎̥̤̰̾̒̄̎̿̽͆̾̈͌̓̅̂͆̕͝ͅσ̷̡̛̛̟͉̟͓̹͇͙͎̥̆̈́̋̀̎̆̓̎̕τ̷̡̡͎͍̩͇͍̥̝̻͈̝̙̲͇̈́͊̓̍̅͗͊̌̂̒̃̂͜͝ͅο̴̧̖̪̭̬͙̪̺̯̙͓͖̫̮͑̾͑̈́͠ι̴̧̣̼̥̻͖̬̘͖̫̣̯͓͚̰̜̱̺͌̎̓̍̕ς̶͓͌̉̄͝͝.̷̟̳̩̫̘̙̞̫̮̬̳̐̋̄̄̿͋͆ ̷̧̢̭̭̺͈͚͇̳̰͚͎̿̒̋́͋R̷̛̜͕̠̗̥͓͓̳͖̫̬̓͑̊̑̔̿͒̆͋̐̇͊͂́͋̔̉͝ẹ̶̢̛͒͗̏͂̋̓͛̋͆́̏̅̎͠͝͝j̶̨̩̮̘̝̠̟͇̗͔̫̎͊͐͋͐͒͂̓̎̌́͘̕͝o̷̪̙̺̣̘̜͇͇̞͈͖͖͖͌̀̑̔͆̿͆̑̽̆ͅḯ̵̡̙͎̝̝̫͕̪̝̆ͅc̶̛̫̮̹̮̩̯̺̜̮̰̈̃̄̈͑̎̽͌̈̏̚͝e̷̡̮̼̟̗̹̋̉̆̆̌̐̈̏̚̚͠͝͝ͅ ̵̬̼̠͛̇̏͗̉̂͊̀̐̌̑͌̏̎̀̕C̵̤̩̪̬̭̈̍a̸̛͇̗͎̦͎͇̤͈̎̃́̈̂̾̕ş̶̝͖̦̘͚̼̦̝̠̹̭̣́͛̏̎̒̔̈́̈́̎̅̄̊̊̐̂̄͊̈̑͘t̶̛̛̛̫̼̒͌̐͂̈̔̌̒̉̾̒͝͝i̴̧̟͉̱͈̗̖̬̜̘̺̯̞̭̲͇͉̜̾̂̒͊̂͋̇̂̔͗̄̉̚̕e̵͎̎l̴̡͉̮͙̥̯̲̙͕̹̜̫̻̝̗̩͛̎̈́͑͛̏̓͜͝

“Castiel?” _ What’s Happening? _

“Castiel!”

“CASTIEL!?” 

Castiel jerks his vessel’s head up, disturbing the delicate plait Shoshana insists on wearing, to look at Anna, wondering why his vessel’s heart is racing in her chest. It’s quieter now, from the tilt of the sun’s rays very little time has passed, but Castiel for the life of him does not know how much. Anna’s eyes are large when he meets them, something common to her vessels. He wonders, absently, if that’s just something inherent to her grace or perhaps just a coincidence. 

“Castiel, are you alright?” Anna asks, her vessel’s head tilted slightly, and it’s only then that Castiel notices Anna has wrapped his vessel’s right hand in both of hers. Castiel can feel the wear in every joint and wonders, absently, why Anna hasn’t eased her vessel’s pain. Why is she asking him if he’s alright, nothing appears to have happened. Castiel knows he needs to respond, Anna is his superior, even if he cannot quite remember what they were speaking about and why all of the noise has dropped out of the agora. The rest of Castiel’s siblings, the eternal chorus of the host, even seems quieter than usual. Castiel has to strain his grace to pick out the melody of Enochian.

“Arthritis,” Castiel blurts out, “He still has arthritis, how strange.” Castiel knows this is a less than satisfactory answer and Anna confirms it when her eyes widen further. She doesn’t say anything. The sun has almost set and the noise has still not returned. Castiel has the strangest urge to beg Anna to say something, say anything. The host remains a faint buzz.

Castiel, still almost….desperate maybe, to make noise, continues, “Father must have had a reason to cause their joints to swell with age. I wonder what it is.”

Anna is still silent, her vessel's large hands still holding onto Castiel’s small one. He pulls his vessel’s hand away gently to pour Anna more wine, for some reason he doesn’t want to look at his ha-- his vessel’s hand or look up at Anna’s expression. He smooths out the hem of his vessel’s tunic. When he’s brave enough to look up, Anna still hasn’t spoken.

She finally folds her vessel’s hands in her lap, hesitates a bit, and says “I….I don’t know why Father has given them half of the afflictions he has, Castiel. Though….I would hazard in this case that he is reminding them of the value of effort” she finishes still looking him in the eye.

Castiel replies in a way anyone else would call rushed, “Father’s thoughtful considerations aside, why have you not eased his burdens, Anna?”

“He asked me not to.”

“Zachariah, why?”

“No, Castiel. Not Zachariah, Quartus asked me not to.”

“Why would he ask for that?”

Anna breaks eye contact and turns to look at the valley of olive trees behind them, “He told me that in three years he would be a freedman. That in four years he would become wealthy. That in five years he would become wed. He said that before he was a slave he was an artist, a sculptor’s assistant….and if I changed his hands….I would be taking away his memories.”

“Why would he want to remember being enslaved?”

“He said that in six years when he was a free, wealthy married man who could join his neighbors in mocking the senate back in Rome for jest, when he told his children stories he wanted to be able to tell them honestly.”

“I….don’t know if I understand.”

“….Castiel do you remember our assault on Lilith?”

Castiel tilted his head, of course he remembered. How could he forget Lucifer’s fall. He was curious as to what that had to do with arthritic joints.

“Yes, Anna. Of course.”

“So you remember Belial nearly ripping one of your wings off before I could put my sword through his temple?”

Castiel feels the urge to roll his eyes, “Yes, while Balthazar and Ishim pinned him to the ground, I recall. Do you remember that I was fighting seven demons at once with no cover, at the time?”

Anna does give into the urge to roll her eyes, but then she sobers, “Then you’ll remember that by the time it was all over, after the cage was locked; how the _Rit Zien_ finally came around to us and instead of letting them finish healing your wing, you insisted that they move onto someone else.”

Castiel doesn’t understand why Anna is bringing this up now, “Yes, I insisted because many were injured far more grievously than I wa-”

“Castiel, you were almost healed, and you were proud of yourself for surviving a fight with Belial,” Anna interrupts, her patience slipping, before letting the side of her vessel’s mouth tip up, “Especially with how young you were. Both you and Benjamin tugged on my armor for months afterwards to tell me the details, two hundred feet of eyes always shining at me.”

Castiel almost feels embarrassed, before remembering that saying anything would just prove Anna’s point, so he makes himself content with raising his vessel’s eyebrow and waiting for Anna to finish.

Anna sighs, but both sides of her mouth tip up, “Castiel, you would have been proud of yourself for doing well regardless; but the fact that you survived one of Lucifer’s lieutenants, didn’t that make you prouder?”

Castiel sits back in his chair and ponders. Of all the things that had happened that day, his injury is not what sticks out in his memory. Watching Michael wrap his overwhelming grace, so loud it shook Heaven and Earth, around Lucifer’s corrupted one. Lucifer’s literal fall, from the most beloved of them all to a being whose name is forbidden to be spoken in Heaven. Thinking Heaven and Earth would tear themselves asunder from the brightness of their entangled grace. Castiel disbelieving that Hell itself in all its enormity would be enough to hold Lucifer’s rending anguish and fury. Michael smiting Lucifer’s remaining lieutenants, his back straightened in duty and his grace steadfast even when consumed with howling grief. Gabriel’s silence. Raphael’s vigilance. Castiel being able to suppress all but the barest speck of terror at the thought of being disconnected from the chorus of the host for the rest of eternity. Living in utter silence. How could any angel, even one so disobedient as Lucifer, deserve that. Only at the end of all things w̵o̶u̸l̷d̶ ̶L̷u̶c̶i̶f̶e̴r̷ ̶b̶e̵ ̵g̵r̶a̶n̵t̷e̴d̸ ̸̫̌d̴͈͑e̴̞͝a̸̮̍t̶̻̓h̶̘̑ ̴̣̌a̸̞͋t̸̰̾ ̴̫M̴̲͛i̷̧̚c̸̖̈́h̴͎̉a̶̖̎e̴̼͒l̴͎͗’̸̬͝s̶̑ͅ ̷̩̈h̸̡̓a̴̛͚n̷̯d̷͈̔ ̶͙͆a̵̠͝n̵̩̕d̴̡̃ ̸̺͝ȕ̴̻n̶̰̓t̶̺̓i̷͕͗l̵͙͝ ̵̦͘ṱ̷h̸̤͝e̸̳͝n̷͖̈́ h̸͖̬̾̕ȇ̷̠̟ ̷͓̄w̶̬͚͆o̶̧̼͑͆ṳ̸̆͊l̸̯̂d̶̟̼̎͑ ̷͓̺̇b̵͎͆e̸̹̒ ̷̱̖̽͊ȁ̵̝̟l̴͔̏o̸̠͙̔̓n̷̞͂͝e̵̠͎̓̚..̷̢͓͋

Castiel needed to stop going quiet for long stretches of time, though at least Anna was in silent contemplation along with him. Anna was silent when it was happening in front of them as well. She had been checking Castiel’s wing, the uncountable hands of her true form holding him still and keeping him from squirming, when the fall had begun. Anna had held him so tightly he had barely been able to perceive what was happening, until he’d felt the scream of Lucifer’s connection to the host being burnt out. Lucifer had made such an unholy racket, Castiel had thought there would still be echoes when they brought paradise to earth two thousand years from now, but Anna hadn’t made a sound.

“I…” he began, trying to get their talk back on track, “I think I understand.”

“No, Castiel. I don’t think you do,” she said quietly, “That’s….that’s alright. You need to attend to the prophet as it is, though I thank you in joining me for some philosophy.” She tried to smile at him but something in her eyes was shrouded.

Castiel focused on Luke’s location, he had moved to the wine dispensary, lovely. He looked at Anna once more, “Enjoy the amphitheater.”

She let out a sound that was almost a laugh, if she had been human, “Yes well, I’m not sure if their  _ Medea _ can compare to Athens’, but I’m sure Balthazar and I will learn something. Peace be with you, Castiel.”

She sat at the table looking deeply at her wine glass with her vessel’s hands in her lap as Castiel flew to wait at Luke’s latest dwellings. Hopefully the prophet needed something other than a synonym list this time.


	2. Chapter 1 - A wind swept over the face of the waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God [Or while the spirit of God] swept over [hovering, brooding] the face of the waters." Genesis 1:2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished this ahead of schedule and figured we all deserved a treat after *waves arms around* all this.

**Heaven, 400 million years ago more or less**

“What’s your favorite memory,” Gabriel asks him suddenly, disrupting the quiet they had fallen into. As quiet as it ever is in Heaven. From the time Castiel’s Father had breathed his spirit into his grace, he’d had a  _ coloratura _ flowing through it. Castiel finds it comforting, the thrum. The few times he has observed Earth both from on high and on its surface, it’s been hauntingly quiet.

“Favorite?” Castiel asks Gabriel. Gabriel seems to enjoy it when Castiel engages in these discussions with him. They are often opaque, there is never an answer Castiel can give that takes away the sensation of Gabriel pulling at strings in front of him, while pulling at twice the amount out of his field of senses. Gabriel is one of the least straightforward beings Castiel has ever witnessed. Often for reasons that Castiel has not been able to understand, maybe that will come with experience.

“Yeah, kiddo; it’s been a little while since you popped up, you tellin’ me that nothing stands out?” Gabriel shoots back.

Castiel pulls his grace in a bit, Gabriel’s tends to spread everywhere when he gets an idea in his head, and ponders. Most of Castiel’s time is taken up by training with Anna and his siblings that make up her garrison. Strategy, tactics, flight maneuvers, or sparring. There isn’t much unique about training that would stand out as a favorite memory. Sometimes if he’s done well (often) one of his older siblings will take him aside and let him accompany them when they visit Earth. Castiel is not permitted to create anything on his trips, but when he’s quiet (which is also often) the older angels will tell him about their Father’s plans. Their grace will sing out in worship, credenzas of exultation while they explain the beauty of their father’s creations.

Today, after he defeated Mirabel in a spar, Gabriel had dragged him along to a quiet glen in Heaven he seems to favor. Castiel’s not sure if it’s modelled after any particular spot on Earth or if it sprung fully formed from Gabriel’s imagination, but it’s always a place he enjoys visiting. It’s surrounded by trees that are even taller than the fullest range of his grace and the heady scent of freesia and morning dew never seems to fade.

Even if Gabriel insists on the both of them moulding their grace into a shape more feasible for something that Gabriel refers to as “lounging”. This lounging always makes Castiel hazy, the edges of his grace wispier than usual like he’ll dissipate if he isn’t vigilant. 

Castiel feels a fondness for those memories, but he doesn’t know that he has a favorite. They have all been equally fascinating. He tries to think of an answer for Gabriel.

“When Virgil gave me my sword, I suppose,” he answers finally, though it feels strange to say. 

“Really?” Gabriel flips over from where he’s been reclining on his front, skepticism heavy in his voice, “I let you ride around on a 40 ft. long fish with swords for teeth and that’s what you’re going with?”

Castiel shrugs, his memories on Earth with Gabriel, with all his siblings really, are very dear to him but there is something unsettling about being there that Castiel cannot name. When Virgil had presented him with his sword, when he had felt it humming in tune with his grace, felt the pride of the host pour out. For the first time in Castiel’s decades-long existence, all of that attention had focused on him and the fact that he was worthy of being one of Father’s soldiers . Castiel had thought about how infinitely Lucifer loved their father, so much his grace left afterimages for miles behind him. How sturdy, how steadfast Michael always appeared, the warm timbre of his grace ringing out because he was able to act as their Father’s sword. When Virgil had placed his angel blade in his hands, Castiel had known the warm hum of belonging.

Sometimes, not often but occasionally, Castiel will feel small pulls of….something. Castiel cannot find a name for it but it exists within him nonetheless. When he visits Earth and sees the vast emptiness, hears the void of silence that somehow exists in tandem alongside the constant storms and howling winds of change readying to spring forth; it makes the center of his grace feel….misaligned is the closest term he can conjure, though that still isn’t wholly correct. The sheer emptiness of the land unsettles him. When he mentioned this to Anna, all he had received was a questioning push of grace in his direction, not scornful but there hadn’t been any recognition either. 

But when Castiel had held his sword, had held his sword and heard  _ hosanna elohim hosanna elohim hosanna elohim _ from a thousand different directions in a thousand different voices, he had never felt so steady.

That something stops him from wanting to broadcast these thoughts to Gabriel. It sounds almost like pride, whichever way Castiel tries form the words, and Joshua says that pride is the easiest lock to pry off the door to disobedience. Despite his reticence, angels in any form are incapable of dishonesty by design and Castiel would never want to lie to his brother even if he were able; he finally tells Gabriel, “It was the day the host declared me worthy of being a part of Father’s army, Gabriel. How could it be anything else?”

Gabriel’s grace dims at this, barely enough to be noticeable but there nonetheless. His eyes, all of them, look at Castiel for what feels like an eternity, then he finally lets out a long hum sprawling back over the grass. A mercurial wave flits across his grace, burning bright and gold; and he lets out a huff before finally saying, fondness warm and apparent within his voice,“They did a fine job picking your name, didn’t they.”

Before Castiel can ask what he means by that, Gabriel suddenly rises, “Okay, kiddo! New plan for today. Instead of lounging, I’ve got something better.”

Gabriel has already pulled him up and is dragging him along the soft, earthen path that’s now cutting through the glade. Castiel starts to ask where exactly it is they’re going, but he realizes now that this branch of the  _ axis mundi _ leads back to Earth. 

“Earth? I thought you wanted to ‘lounge’?” Castiel asks him as best as he’s able to over the jostling hold Gabriel has him in.

“Oh, I see now you wanna lounge,” Gabriel drawls out, and Castiel can hear the put upon expression even if he can’t see it, “You should be thankful I’ve deigned to invite you to what you’re about to see.”

Castiel feels the urge to gnarl up a few of his hands in one Gabriel’s right wings and yank, before he remembers that that would be beneath a soldier entrusted with his Father’s will and that Gabriel is an Archangel and he restrains himself. He does give into the urge to bat one of his wings into one of Gabriel’s eyes as he adjusts his weight so he can see the road ahead.

Gabriel cackles at him as he shoves his wing back down, “Why exactly are you kvetching, again? I thought you liked Earth and I know you love flying?”

Castiel straightens up a bit, the last time he had complained about laying around Gabriel had spent their entire time on Earth trying to find a creature large enough to swallow Castiel whole. 

“I heard that, Castiel. I’m not gonna feed you to anything. There isn’t anything down there big enough to eat you now, anyway. You grew too much.”

Somehow this does not reassure Castiel, he remains silent.

Gabriel lets out another overly long sigh and sets him down. 

“Weeeeell, I was going to take you to see something special,” Gabriel says dragging out his words in a uniquely obnoxious way that Castiel has found only his older brother is capable of. “Buuuuuut, if you’d rather sit up here and sulk and let Anna cosset your ruffled feathers? I guess I’ll have to go by myself.”

He starts to move away when Castiel grabs one of his hands and tells him sharply, “If you don’t let me go I’ll tell Anna that you were the one who hid Metatron’s lists in our training room.”

Gabriel lets out another cackle, “Well there’s that adventurous spirit. I was worried you’d been spending too much time with Zachariah.” He tugs Castiel back into a slightly less humiliating hold, “Now c’mon, we wouldn’t want to miss the main event.”

“Why won’t you tell me what we’re going to see?”

“Castiel, if I’ve figured out anything about existing _ad infintium_ , is that it’s good to mix in some surprises every once in a while. Idle hands misuse the hammer and all that.” 

He leaves Castiel with that thought (he’s fairly certain that turn of phrase is one of Gabriel’s invention and not worth commenting on) as they reach the end of the  _ axis mundi _ . Castiel moves to get down and feels a spike of irritation when Gabriel refuses to let him.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” Gabriel asks him.

“Attempting to fly,” he shoots back, feeling his wings start to flare out.

Gabriel is unsurprisingly not intimidated. 

“Castiel, I don’t know how to tell you that your go-getter attitude is not worth Michael tearing me a new one for letting an angel less than a century old accidentally fling themselves into a black hole. Actually, that’s exactly the way I’ll tell you. No.”

“I wouldn’t do that!”

“I don’t think anyone has ever intentionally put themselves in a black hole, kiddo,” Gabriel retorts, “Look for the next cosmos altering event, you can race Balthazar down there until your wings are singed off if you want, but I’d rather not deal with clean up today.”

Castiel snaps his head around, “Cosmos altering?”

Gabriel closes his eyes and looks up. Castiel looks up as well to find whatever Gabriel’s looking at. There isn’t anything. He looks back at Gabriel and tilts his head to try and figure out what exactly his brother is doing. Gabriel looks back down at him and keeps a stern face for about eight point four seconds before he doubles over laughing, squishing Castiel in the process.

“Nice tricks, Trixie,” Gabriel says as his laughing fit peters out, “Say thanks to Father for taking after me, Uriel’s gonna have some competition for jokes. We have enough little Michaels running around and neither Lucifer or Raphael need the ego boost. ” 

“Gabriel!” Castiel can’t believe Gabriel needs chastising from someone who he won’t even let fly on his own.

“Castiel, I had to grow up as the baby with just the three of them since before we even started keeping track of time itself. I think they can handle the teasing,” Gabriel chuckles, “But I’ll make sure to tell them that the new baby is ready to be their shield.” He moves his closest wing out of reach before Castiel can tug on it.

Gabriel’s still giggling when he sends them through plane after plane until they’re on Earth. Castiel almost forgets just how fast Gabriel can be when he chooses. They seem to be on a beach, the winds howl as fiercely as they always do. Water is crashing deafeningly against the rocks, the arc and motion of the waves are the only way to discern the ocean from the same gray backdrop of the sky. 

A crack of lightning bellows out over the water so loudly that Castiel can’t help but wonder if he and Gabriel are down here illicitly and Raphael is doing them the courtesy of sending a warning before Michael appears to rain down Father’s wrath. 

Gabriel doesn’t seem to find any of this worrisome and sets him down to start walking off towards the shoreline.

“I know I’m the fun one, but we’re gonna do a little training,” he says over his shoulder, before pulling his grace in on itself. It’s Gabriel, so there’s a lot of it, but eventually he’s closer to Castiel’s size.

“This is a pretty delicate assignment, you’re gonna need to scale down a bit,” he says and continues to get smaller until he’s just a corona of flame in a thirty foot circle around the center of his grace.

Castiel thankfully understands the concept and begins to fold his grace in on itself. Gabriel is many things a warrior, a brother, a son, a messenger, but he has never seemed overly interested in teaching. Soon Castiel can only sense about ten feet around him and that’s about as much as he can handle before he becomes too dense and sinks through the Earth’s crust.

“This is a mission? Did one of the Leviathan try to break out again,” he asks, trying to feel out whatever caused Gabriel to be sent here.

“Thankfully we don’t have to deal with the Leviathan’s useless flailing today. I guess….think of this as more of a reconnaissance mission.”

Gabriel brought him to do reconnaissance? Castiel knows that soon most of his existence will be spent in observation, but he’s surprised that it’s something Gabriel would be happy to volunteer for.

Gabriel must see his disbelieving look, because he holds out one of his hands, only six now, and says, “Just follow me.”

Castiel does indeed grab Gabriel’s hands with one of his own and follows him. They walk for a bit until they’re only about five feet from the cresting waves. The spray of the gray water clashing into the jagged rocks is more violent up close. Between that and the storm, all of the noise upon discordant noise makes Castiel wonder if the very fabric of this realm is at war with itself.

Gabriel nudges at him to pay attention to the water and he does. After a few moments, he almost turns around to ask why Gabriel is so taciturn about the sea when he sees a flash of motion.

It’s barely visible. So faint that Castiel wonders if his grace is perceiving misfires from all of the lightning. Castiel thinks faintly that maybe Gabriel really is going to try and feed him to something when he sees another flash of movement in the water. 

With another violent heave of the waves onto the shore, Castiel finally sees it. When the waves recede they leave behind….something. It’s small and gray and if Castiel weren’t able to feel the barest brush of life within it he would never guess that it was animate. The fish is struggling, squirming back and forth and he can feel the strain of its body as it tries to move. It hasn’t done much more than stir when the waves change momentum. The fish has been unable to do anything and Castiel knows instantly it will be swept back into the sea. It’s achievement barely realized before it will be snuffed out. Dragged back into the chaos before it can ever appreciate the calm. The senselessness of that feels like being struck. It’s…it’s unacceptable.

Castiel is moving before he processes the thought when he’s suddenly heaved up around the middle.

“Watch out for the fish, Castiel!” Gabriel hisses at him, deadly serious.

Castiel freezes at the tone of his voice. He looks down just in time to see the foamy water sweep past the fish. Castiels’ senses seem to have gotten swept along with it. The nudges he mentioned to Anna, multiplied, and leaving him reeling. 

Gabriel squeezes him, “Look,” he urged.

Castiel focuses his gaze and his eyes widen when the waves recede and the little fish is still in the same spot. It’s body is still straining, but miraculously unmoved. It’s exhausting itself, moving barely fast enough to count as progress, but moving forward steadily all the same. Even the cacophony of the storm seems to hesitate. Castiel and Gabriel can only silently watch as the creature battles wave after wave with nothing but seemingly the nerve to be unmoved from its path. 

Castiel cannot say how long it takes the creature to crawl up the beach, finally out of the angry reach of the waves. He cannot say how long until it’s fragile heart stops sounding like it will give out at any moment, and it’s lungs stop spasming without the aid of the water to ease them. How long until it’s gills stop shuddering and finally seem to seal closed. How long until he is simply watching, swept up in Gabriel’s six arms, the fish sit on the black sand and breathe easily.

Castiel has supernovae explode and collapse. Castiel has seen meteors impact the Earth so harshly that it barely held its shape. Castiel has seen gardens so filled with flowers and blooms that they blacked out the sun. Castiel has seen the oceans been made to boil. Castiel has heard tales: everything from his siblings' battles with the Leviathan to the sheer awe of watching something move forward out of the primordial pool. This is the first time Castiel has ever seen something  _ become _ . 

“Pretty neat, huh,” Gabriel finally says, much quieter than usual but still a shock in the stillness of the last few moments.

Castiel is still speechless. Even Enochian seems vastly unequipped to sing the proper amount of exultation for the events that he just witnessed.

“Yeah, I thought you’d think so, too,” Gabriel chuckles and sets him down, “Be careful, yeah? This gig’s pretty important.”

Castiel finally finds his voice, “It….how did it just leave the water?”

“Well, Father has some pretty big plans for that fish. In a while, it’s gonna do some important stuff?”

Castiel wonders if anything could be monumental to the fish after what it just did; he tilts slightly to get a better look at the fish, he must be missing something. How could such a heavy task fall on such a fragile thing. 

“Okay, not literally the fish, Castiel. But let’s just say that with the help of that fish, soon….soon-ish at least every single one of Father’s creations will live in Paradise. It all starts here.”

Gabriel grace flares a bit brighter at that, but Castiel can still barely string a sentence together. He can imagine no holier task, but how can this tiny creature bring Salvation to Heaven and Earth when just heaving itself ten feet nearly killed it?

“Aren’t you wondering how?”

“After what it just did, Gabriel, I think it could probably do anything.”

“Oh no! Melodrama and philosophy, kid? Maybe you do take after Lucifer?.”

Castiel bats him gently with a wing, unable to muster any real irritation. He finally pulls his eyes away from the fish and looks up fully at Gabriel, nine golden wings and all, and tells him, “Thank you, Gabriel.”

Gabriel’s grace wobbles a bit, “Yeah, well….what kind of older brother would I be if I let you think that getting the same sword we all have is the highpoint of eternity?”

“Was….”

“Was what?’

Castiel wavers under the awe he bears for their Father, he is the only one who could have made this possible. The power to bring about life where there once was none, how could any praise ever be enough. “Was Father present and helping the fish? Was that how it held steady?”

Gabriel seems surprised with the question, his grace dimming just barely, “Of course, Castiel. Father is present in all things.”

Gabriel then shifts a bit, Castiel would call it hesitating if he thought Gabriel was capable of it, but adds, “But Father interceded?”

Gabriel pauses for a moment, but finally responds, “Castiel, Father….Father knew that it wouldn’t have mattered if the fish hadn’t been able to haul itself out.”

“But Father has planned everything, so he knew the fish would crawl out?”

“I only act as Father’s messenger when I’m tasked with it, Castiel. If Father wished for all his creations to have only one option, he would just have us do that. Father knows which decision we will make, but we still have to be the ones to do it.”

Castiel’s head is beginning to swim. Those stirrings he had earlier....was that through his own action or was that what his Father instilled in him. Was what he was experiencing against his Father’s will, did his Father want him to realize there was something wron-

Before Castiel can finish the thought, Gabriel starts dragging him by the hand, “Okay, I can hear you overthinking. I think your halo’s about to start smokin’, kiddo. It’s time to say bye-bye to Mr. Tiktaalik.”

Castiel knows logically that he will be able to observe this fish from Heaven, but somehow he knows it will be different. Less tangible, if he cannot hear the wail of the wind and sense the cold starving the life from the sand. All life until today. He doesn’t know why that makes him feel an absence, another misalignment.

He shakes it off as Gabriel scoops him back up and prepares to take flight. He goes willingly. He takes one last look at the fish. He feels a sudden pull to say thank you, as he had to Gabriel, but he has to simply hope the fish can feel it. Can feel the combined weight of all of Heaven’s adoration for what the fish will bring about.

As Gabriel whips them through the planes of aether to re-enter Heaven, Castiel thinks that maybe the Earth won’t be so quiet anymore. He hopes the fish can endure the noise, for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -The spot in heaven is based half on Sequoia National Park and Angeles National Forrest, both in Southern California. The scene on the beach is obviously inspired by The Man Who Would Be King. I have an arts degree in history and took all of my stem classes credit/no credit, so if something is scientifically inaccurate, take it as creative license.
> 
> -The show contradicts itself with angel lore and how heaven/grace/angel emotions work so often (including who is supposed to be in cas's garrison) so trying to keep all of it straight when is a nightmare as you can imagine. So I'm focused more on trying to keep this story thematically consistent (plus the stuff that resonates with joy) than trying to include everything.
> 
> -Gabriel's phrase about idle hands is of course a play on the phrase "Idle hands are the devil's playthings." but seeing as neither the devil nor Geoffrey Chaucer exist yet he made up his own version. How did he use modern slang, yiddish, AND latin, which also doesn't exist yet? Archangels have existed since Chuck created the heavens and universe so I assume they exist outside non linear time? I figure everyone is cool with that as long as I'm not having anyone use reddit words like the actual show did in 15x19.
> 
> As usual, comments and kudos are welcome and you can find me/ask questions on tumblr [@ozymandiasdirge](%E2%80%9Cozymandiasdirge.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D). Updates every Sunday!


	3. Chapter 2 - All things great and small

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas grows up and has some sibling hang out time. The trauma of having a yawning existential void of nihlism desperate to enforce his will on the world as a father and Thee Father starts to hit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He prayeth best, who loveth best;  
> all things great and small;  
> for the dear God who loveth us;  
> he made and loveth all.
> 
> (Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Samuel Taylor Coleridge)
> 
> content warnings in the end note

**Laurentia, 390 million years ago**

Before Castiel’s flight had life breathed into them by their Father, before Ishim’s, and before Uriel’s; a great Calamity struck the Earth. Two plates of the land scraped and clashed and out of the clash arose mountains from the dirt. The Earth cooled and so massive mountains of ice arose from the sea. The mountains hoarded the air within them and the glaciers froze up the water and together, they starved the sea of oxygen and substance; and the tiny creatures within the sea could barely survive the tumult. When their home returned to its previous shape and temperature it was their home no longer; it was no longer shone blue but ran red with rust. 

Their eggs grew together into one amorphous mass and when their children were born their spines grew outside their bodies. Three heads sharing one skeleton and not alive long enough to spread the misfortunes they had been born into to any others.

The coral that had once been taller than the farthest reaches of Castiel’s grace refused to grow. No longer flourished in tones and hues that had only been seen in the far reaches of space, but they bled a pallid gray.

Almost all life that had been inside Earth’s churning, restless oceans was gone by the time the waters were blue again.

“How did Father decide which species survived,” Castiel asks Anna as she instructs him how to weave his grace through the water, creation spreading in its wake. 

Seeds of new inspiration to replace those now gone. At rest, Castiel reminds himself. Those tetrapods are at rest now, though Castiel ponders the resonance of a particular fuschia coral. The choirs of Earth have changed so much, but the absence of the coral is prominent. Castiel, for whatever reason, is reminded of the little fish. Its determination to strive through the chaos, despite everything. The coral did not have that same determination, he knows. It did not scrape itself forward along the sand until its skin was raw and its lungs ached. It simply grew along the seafloor and bloomed.

“Those who could not persist were not fated to continue, it seems,” Anna pauses before replying, then adds. “There is nothing that Father values more in his creations than being steadfast, Castiel. From the Archangels to the tetrapods.”

* * *

**Pangaea, 252 million years ago**

Long after Castiel’s flight had life breathed into them a great Calamity struck the Earth. Lava spewed forth from the flat ground and covered the land in miles deep fields of rock. Sulfur and methane flowed forth in its wake, and the yellow beams of the sun were unable to break through the dingy yellow fog that now made up the atmosphere. Magma seeped into the Earth’s great stores of oil and set them alight, further strangling any oxygen left in the air or the seas.

The forests, the trees as a whole ceased to exist. The only plant that could survive was the fungus that fed from their petrified corpses. The ocean shrank and what didn’t shrink away nearly boiled, steam wafting off its churning waves. Nothing grew, nothing swam, and almost nothing survived except things that began to learn to fly. Sometimes it seemed like the planet down to core was going to begin to rot.

Uriel nudges him with a charcoal-edged wing as the sea foams up with carbonate. They watch as a gnarled mass of decomposing….Castiel cannot identify it at a distance rises, twitching to the surface, “Melancholia does not suit you, Castiel.”

He doesn’t know what Uriel means by melancholic, Castiel is simply….simply pondering. 

Uriel bats him again when he doesn’t respond, “Father has us to be reliable. Nothing on this planet is made to stand forever. Only can grant that.”

Castiel knows this, creation has a cycle. Not all of Father’s creations could fit on Earth at once without rapidly spiraling out of control, and as Gabriel told him. They have to be able to survive the path Father has for them, for them to be truly worthy of His glory. This realm is meant to change, while Heaven remains steadfast.

Castiel just doesn’t agree with Uriel that acknowledging that the Earth will be quieter now, even if only temporarily, is a rebuke. Father would not have given him the ability to mourn these creatures, however quietly, if he did not want them to be missed. The dawdling herds of _dicynodonts_ along the riverbanks, the tenaciousness of the _diictodon_ , and the endearingly flat faces of the _lystrosauruses_. Mourn may not be the right word. Castiel is elated, at least, that they are at peace, even if he will fondly remember their presence on Earth. Perhaps a requiem is suitable instead of a dirge. A hum of remembrance.

* * *

**The Yucatan Peninsula, 66 million years ago**

Even longer after the oceans had cooled, after the forests had regrown and the sun had shone through onto the ground, a great calamity struck the Earth. Jupiter’s mass usually protected the planet from collisions, but an opportunity seemed to have slipped past it. An asteroid, not even all that wide across in the grand scheme of things, hurled into the land. Its speed and power was vast, vast enough for the ocean to pour over the hole that had been carved out of the Earth’s crust. Fires sprang up, stretched across thousands of miles and charred what was left and were only tamed by the massive waves of water and slurry sloshing forward after the strike. 

Once again the sun was blotted out, both from the asteroid and the volcanic activity its appearance brought with it. Sulfur invaded the clear air and the only rain that reached the surface was cloudy with rot. The air shivered when no warmth was able to reach it and the water became choked with acidity. The only creatures that were able to survive were those who were able to fly above the poisoned Earth and never touch the ground again, those able to run from the ruins of their homes and not stop moving. Anything sedentary was swept away so quickly, Castiel wondered if they were even aware it was happening. 

Castiel remembers when the quiet of this planet unnerved him. He wonders if the little fish, or those that came in its wake rather, miss the constant roiling storms or if they welcome the chaos of the surface as long as they are in company….were in company.

He wonders absently if his Father had planned this from the beginning, or if this was a chance for the creatures to stand strong and true and they just failed. Failure that will result in paradise for them, but a failure nonetheless. At least there was little immediate suffering. The impact was so immense that anything close would not have had a chance to feel pain before being vaporized. 

He’s experienced enough now that he observes often alone, Anna is able to cover their quadrants better now that she no longer feels the need to instruct him. He has been for hundreds of millenia. That being said he can’t claim that he doesn’t wish he had one of his siblings with him at the moment. Something of this grandeur, he surmises, seems odd to experience alone. 

* * *

**The Afar Triangle, approximately 8 million years ago**

And yet even longer after that, another catastrophe happened. Not one as explosive as fire raining down from the skies, at least not at first glance. Today Castiel is not observing alone, today Castiel is joined by the entirety of the host. 

He had been minding his post when he received the message, quite enraptured by the sight of four _hoplophonei_ being taught to swim by their mother, any reticence they may have had been quickly abandoned after one look at her lazily swishing tail and within moments they were play fighting amongst themselves in the shallow banks of the river. Their mother watches their antics with a full stomach from atop a nearby rock in a manner that Castiel cannot describe in a way other than stately. Two of them are batting at and tussling over a caught fish when he hears the heavy ring of Michael’s grace rise out from the chorus and call them all home.

It is not so much that Castiel never speaks to his eldest brother, they have an infinite amount of time, and it would be hard to find a sibling that Castiel has not at least spoken to, it’s more that Michael is not often the messenger for these objectives. Anna or Ishim are the ones to give him his orders, maybe Zachariah or even more rarely Gabriel, but he cannot imagine that Michael has the time nor inclination to give the thousands of them individualized orders. It must be an order from their Father. He bids a silent, unseen farewell to the _hoplophonei_ and with one push he is home.

He feels the questioning brush of grace from all eight members of his garrison as soon as he re-enters Heaven. The pavilion they are currently in is vast, as it would have to be to contain all of them. 

“That was Michael, yes? I haven’t just been stuck staring at the same square of ocean too long that I’ve become completely unbalanced,” Balthazar is the first one to speak.

“Of course it’s Michael. As though, Michael could be mistaken for anyone else,” replies Hester.

“It’s not as though Michael ever has time for this kind of grunt work, it’s a valid reason to wonder.”

“Father has sent us a message,” Michael projects. He does not call for attention, or even project loudly. He knows the warm baritone of his voice is enough to quiet the entirety of the Host, to pin all of their attention. Even if his message were not one as monumental as this, they would be rapturous in their vigil. 

Their commander stands steadfast at the center of the space, a towering mass of wheels and wings, all blindingly silver and white. Lucifer and Gabriel on his right and Raphael and Metatron on his left. 

Lucifer is….not as he usually appears, nor are Gabriel or Raphael. Lucifer’s grace is so bright that even Castiel has trouble perceiving it directly. It moves from a comforting hum to a piercing wail depending only on variables Lucifer himself seems to know for as long as Castiel has been in existence. Until now it seems. Lucifer appears….contained and it is strange. 

As does Gabriel, who normally has energy spiraling off of him, as if the space he takes up is too small to hold him in all of his vivaciousness. He is still standing between Lucifer and Michael, which is not a position he has ever stood in before. Not a position anyone has ever stood in before. Gabriel is mercurial by nature, but not like this. 

Raphael has several pairs of eyes looking ahead and many looking at all three of the other archangels. Like something might happen the second he takes his eyes off them. 

Metatron appears to be struck trying to be seen by the rest of the host through the clamor of the Archangels and desperately stay unnoticed by the four of them at the same time. 

If the barely discernible murmurings of the rest of his garrison are correct, Castiel is not the only one to notice.

“Father has sent us a message,” Michael repeats and there is….there’s what Castiel would call a hitch in the phrase if it were anyone but Michael’s voice speaking. His voice is as it always is, balanced. Where Lucifer’s voice captivates with the kind of flourishing aria that paints apparent why he is Father’s most beloved, Michael’s is a rumbling constant. Never as bright, never as loud but sustained. If they were mortal Castiel might compare it to a heartbeat if not for the fact that there will never be a point where it ceases to pulse.

“His message: Our new purpose is ready to begin. Father’s greatest creation is nearly complete,” Michael continues, balanced, “Father would have us see them before the Grigori begin their watch.”

Before this, the humans, or rather what would one day become humans have not been warranted any more attention than any other of the creatures that inhabit the Earth. No longer are they just the first creature to claw itself from the oceans. 

They all look to an area of Heaven where the veil is thinnest. Castiel almost longs to see it in front of him, but quickly realizes that thousands of pillars of light hundreds of times the size of the tallest structure these beings have ever seen would be quite alarming. 

Castiel is moved nonetheless, despite not being right there, despite the oddness of his siblings behavior, what they are about to see is the highest honor their Father can bestow upon them. Allow them to lay visage on his most treasured creation grow into their destiny. He is not one of the Grigori, he will not be one of his siblings watch out for them specifically; he decides that he will savor the chance to see this and let that be enough.

They watch as a woman holds a child next to a river, surrounded by a man and two other women. Her skin is flushed bright with blood and her brow damp with perspiration not helped by the blaring sun; her breathing is strained. When she opens her eyes to look upon the child, the warm brown is contrasted heavily with the white of her sclera and the vivid red of the burst blood vessels within them. The child on her chest is damp and bruised looking. 

This child looks externally identical to her parents. The large cranium and curved spine of other hominids is present in her. However, Castiel notices that the tops of her femurs attach at an angle. He marvels. This one mutation, one difference in chemical sequencing will lead to enough improved mobility to create a new being entirely. 

They watch as one of the other women takes the child into her arms and begins cleaning off the blood and amniotic fluid, before placing her back on the mother’s abdomen. The mother, barely awake enough to stir, brushes a hand through the hair on top of the child’s head and goes to sleep. 

Exultations of their Father begin to rise throughout the Host. They never had any doubt in their Father, of course not, but to watch his plan unfold in front of them through his will instills a feeling in Castiel like nothing else ever has. 

Years pass as they watch. The child grows and walks and moves more easily than her parents. She spends her time not huddled with the other children looking at the ocean. Another child is born in their family and the exultations grow even louder when the same femoral mutation occurs. 

It takes three rotations around the sun for the catastrophe to happen. The group of _Sahelanthropus_ stay in the same spot, and for how much of a difference their existence will make in the history of this planet, their lives change remarkably little. The sun continues to bear down on them. They hunt, they bathe, and they sleep. And it’s on one of these hunts that they bring back a creature that had been terribly sick as food. They don’t seem to realize that the only reason they were able to catch the beast was because it was already mostly dead from illness.

Within ten days, over half of them had perished. Some in their sleep, some from dehydration, and even more from fever. There were not enough of them to safely stay living in the little valley they had made their homes. At some point they decide that everyone who is healthy enough to move will do so. Most of those who were ill have already either improved or died and in any case Castiel is a soldier, he understands pragmatism. It is a defining feature of the creatures of this planet as well. However, there is one problem, the child was old enough to eat the poisoned meat. 

Castiel held hope that she was young and healthy enough to avoid becoming ill, but three days ago she was unable to walk forward without stumbling. Her mother has brought her to water every few hours but as of yesterday she has been unable to drink by her own volition. She just needs more time, Castiel wants to tell them. Wants to appear in front of them and explain that if they just wait three more days she will be well enough to travel. 

The exultations quiet and the tension rises among his siblings as the sickness drags on and it reaches a fever pitch as the most senior women of their group begins walking towards the child’s limp body. Her breath catches on every inhale, holding them all in suspense on whether or not her lungs will keep moving on the next attempt. The woman gets ten feet away before the child’s mother grabs her arm. Castiel thinks she is going to plead. 

The ringing silence gets louder when she doesn’t. Michael has to have orders to step in to stop this, their Father values perseverance he knows that. Surely, he thinks, surely not to this extent. She halts the woman’s progress and looks at her….before moving towards her child’s body herself. She stops in front of her and strokes her damp hair, brushing it away from her face. She pauses and gently strokes the flushed shape of her cheek, and then she picks her up. She walks into the trees and out of the view of the rest of the group.

She returns and her body is dripping with sea water. Her hair is stuck to the tears dribbling down her face. She moves forward with the rest of her group with her younger child in her arms. The sun stays overhead. She does not look back.

The veil between Heaven and Earth cascades back into place. Castiel has never heard the Host collectively as silent as it is right now. The pause before the inhale. 

They cast their awareness towards Michael. He….he has to have an explanation. 

Michael holds himself in for the first time that Castiel can remember. Gabriel has never looked further from making a comment in his life. 

“That was Father’s plan?” Lucifer starts, unwilling to hear the silence anymore.

“Lucifer don’t start,” Michael replies, there isn’t any inflection.

Lucifer takes that as a sign to add more disdain, “That’s who he wants us to serve?!”

Raphael tenses, “Lucif--”

“They just took death into their own hands, they took the future of their own kind and drowned it. They murder their own kind out of opportunism! What kind of creature does that?! Not any creature I would se--”

“LUCIFER! Stop!” Michael interrupts him with a roar. Neither of them say another word. No one does.

A minute or an epoch could have passed, Castiel thinks no one would be able to say before Michael steels himself and tells them, “Back to your posts.” 

Another inhale.

Castiel is back at the river unable to identify a single one of his racing thoughts when he feels the presence of Balthazar behind him.

“This isn’t your post,” Castiel adds, after minutes of no words exchanged between them.

“Somehow I think the plankton will be fine without me playing voyeur for a few minutes,” Balthazar adds, the levity is so forced that even Castiel picks up on it. Balthazar reminds him of Gabriel in that way, if there is sarcasm to be thrown around, no matter the occasion they will take that opportunity. 

On the one hand Castiel knows he should not encourage his brother’s lax behavior. Michael is the only being in existence whose name can mean “he who is like God” and have it not be horrendous blasphemy for a reason. If Castiel reprimands Balthazar now, he will either leave or they will start bickering about minutiae and not address what just happened. Castiel somehow both desperately needs someone to acknowledge what just happened and dreads the idea. Even if it’s against orders he’s glad to not be alone right now. 

The _hoplophonei_ are sleeping now, curled up on top of their mother and father. Castiel is both gracious and slightly envious of their obliviousness to what just happened halfway around the world. 

“I….” How does he even ask this.

“Hmmm?” Is all Balthazar helpfully adds.

Castiel falls silent again.

Another way in which Balthazar and Gabriel are alike? There’s only so much silence they can stand.

“What’s on your mind, Castiel?” his brother prods.

“I’ve….I’ve been wondering, why? Why she did that?” Is what he finally replies.

“I think we’re all wondering that.”

“But why would she want to be the one to do it. The child….she fed her and bathed her. She put her body through considerable danger to create her. The other woman would have done it and yet she stopped her. I just….I don’t understand.”

“I don’t think anyone but Father understands them at the moment. I mean they normally bury their dead in the ground, don’t they; but she left her in the water? They’re nonsensical obviously.”

“She….”

“What?”

“The child liked the ocean. I--suppose maybe that’s why.”

“What’s why?”

“She spent so much time looking at the ocean, maybe….she thought it was kinder to leave her there instead of in the ground.”

“It would have been kinder not to kill her. That isn’t even supposed to be up to them.”

“She didn’t know she would survive, maybe she thought she didn’t have any choice. Either let her die of sickness or do it herself. I suppose….”

“What?”

“It’s just….odd that Father didn’t tell Michael to let them know she would have survived.”

“Only Father knows the details of these things, I suppose.”

Castiel pauses. Father….Father has a reason for why the child is now at peace instead of passing on the genetic pattern that will lead to _homo sapiens._ Father must have seen hardship that she would have been ill suited to overcome and granted her peace. 

A few years later while receiving their updated assignments, Castiel is speaking to Rachel. She is in another garrison, so they don’t get the chance to talk as often but she has a calm, practical matter that he always finds enjoyment in. The discordant notes of argument ring out across the farthest reaches, and they all firmly don’t consider that there was a time where this wasn’t the norm. Rachel tells him that on their way to their new home all but fifteen members of that group perished. The child’s younger sister was the only child who survived. Castiel thinks about the ocean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings: light body horror, allusions to animal death, death of a child, light discussion of illness
> 
> Hold onto those thoughts about your dad being merciful, sweetheart! Surely it won't give you enormous amounts of trauma at a later unspecified date!
> 
> Sorry this one is late. Some very annoying real life stuff happened and along with having to be at work in a global pandemic it kind of killed the urge to do anything but watch the back to the future trilogy on netflix repeatedly and drink sangria. I kind of hesitated when I realized how dark the end part was getting but then I rememebred that this show confirmed cas killing children in the tenth plague of Egypt so I decided to roll with it. But I am back! The science in this chapter is as accurate as I could get it but given that this is a piece of fanfiction about the cw's supernatural I figure you guys will cut me some slack. If anything is wrong chock it up to creative license. 
> 
> I realize it's more headcanon and speculation that heaven wasn't always a horrific dystopic nightmare scape, but I am already putting cas through the ringer for the foreseeable future and I like to imagine that there was at least a few things to miss about it. I guess disclaimer that since the show itself didnt follow it's own rules most of the time i'm mostly just trying to stay consistent to my own writing so if you have a question about something, I am always here to answer questions either here or on the blue website. [@ozymandiasdirge](%E2%80%9Cozymandiasdirge.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D)
> 
> There should be another update this Sunday!

**Author's Note:**

> You will never know the restraint it took to not name this "5 times Cas got lobotmized + the 1 time it didnt stick". Updates every Sunday. Comments and kudos are always appreciated and I'm also thinking too hard about cas on tumblr @ozymandiasdirge.


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